


There’s Magic In This Misery

by Hopefulwriter



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti) RPF, IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Heavy Angst, Hospitals, M/M, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21820180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopefulwriter/pseuds/Hopefulwriter
Summary: He feels like he's lost Eddie again, but this time he could remember, at least, how easy talking to him had been, how things had slotted into place when they were in that restaurant. It felt like he had something that he didn't even know he missed, and now that it's gone has left a hole where that Eddie shape had moulded into his heart.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	There’s Magic In This Misery

**Author's Note:**

> It’s sure been a while since I posted anything, but I definitely want to start posting again, because I really enjoy it. Thanks for reading and make sure you let me know what you think!
> 
> I want to add a link to a 16+ IT Discord server, it’s a great place to chat about everything from the movies or even the novel, and there’s Roleplaying too, with some of the characters still open for claiming. Its still pretty new so it needs some more members and I’d love to see some of you there! [Link Here](https://discord.gg/3fRBdV8)
> 
> Title from ‘My Mistake’ by Gabrielle Aplin

~

Eddies young life had revolved around Richie. They were friends, best friends, even though he wanted more than he knew Richie would give. Eddie had just basked in his presence, not wanting to tamper with the way of things too much, until they all moved away, one by one, leaving, going to college or anything other than Derry. 

Then he forgot. He covered up this mysterious hole in his heart by the only way he knew best, to have someone else to control things for him, control him. Because he’s aware that he married a carbon copy of his mother, it was easier that way. Not letting himself have space to breathe, to think, overthink, when he has her breathing down his neck. 

He hates it. So when the friends he had forgotten about had gathered around that restaurant table he felt everything fall into place. The memories were slow to come but the way Richie looked at him, talked to him, didn’t make him worry too much. But then everything got out of control, he and the others found out about Stan, had to process such a blow alongside searching for their items, going back to that house, and dealing with a giant clown. 

He had just saved Richie from the Deadlights, seeing him float, limbs going limp as if his soul had left his body, almost frozen with fear until he remembered the spear in his hand, realising that he couldn’t allow the man that he hadn’t known he’d missed to leave him again. He sat over Richie after he’d dropped, making sure he was okay, even with himself exposed like this, the lights in the cave shining wildly, his heart beating with adrenaline because nothing had scared him like the thought of Richie dying to that fucking clown. Then there was a searing pain, making his vision blurry for a second as the claw sliced through his midsection, he felt blood on his tongue and Richie's eyes so wide as he gasped his name, before he was whipped back, going limp as the clown threw him around with its claw still stuck into him as the others screams rang in his ears. Then he was thrown into one of the caves, tumbling down the stair-like rocks, finally laying crumpled in on himself at the end, sat holding his midsection.

The next thing he remembered was Richie, trying to talk to him, covering him with his jacket, ever the gentleman, even though Eddie knew it would be seriously blood stained if he ever got it back. He was still bleary eyed, feeling everything drain from him, but he still managed to crack a joke, he had to, couldn’t let everyone see him practically die in front of them. Richie stayed with him while the others shouted insults at the clown, seeming to have found its weakness after what he said. 

He remembered that time in the house, Richie talking to him, forcing him to look at him, his arm broken as the others fended off the clown. Richie had said things frantically, panicked himself but still trying to bring him comfort. It was much like that now, the other being so careful with him as he tried to apply pressure in vein to the wound in his stomach. Then Richie left, to help the others. Eddie didn’t blame him, he knew Richie would give them the edge they needed to defeat It, completely this time. 

Eddie just wishes he would’ve said what he needed to, because he wouldn’t last much longer. He just hoped that whatever came after he could make sure that Richie was safe.

They had defeated It, all of them working together to bully the clown, and Richie had actually ripped one of its clawed limbs off, having done it for Eddie, getting the thing back for hurting his friend in however he could. He could feel his blood pumping in his ears as Mike ripped Its pulsing heart out, the thing reaching for it fruitlessly, and all of them crushing it, the blood floating towards the Deadlights as they begin to dim.

They can't celebrate though, as Richies mind draws back to Eddie, to the image of his crumpled form, and he rushes with the others on his tail over to where they had moved him. He touches the others patched-up cheek, not wanting to notice how cold his skin is, how vacant his eyes are. “Ed, we beat Pennywise, man.” He smiles, and when no reaction comes he looks over to the others, to their expressions of sadness, but never mind what they can see, Eddies still there, he hasn’t gone anywhere. “Eddie?” At that last word he glances imploringly at the others.

“Richie, he- hes gone,” Bev says, tear tracks on her face as she covers her mouth in grief.

Richie frowns, not knowing how she can’t see what he can. ”It’s nothing, he's just hurt, we have to get him out of here.” He ignores the rumbling in the cave, the place starting to crumble. Shortly after they’re dragging him, literally kicking and screaming, out of the cave that’s destroying itself, but he doesn't care about himself, he's calling for Eddie, up until the bitter end when the Neibolt house collapses, folding in and on top of where he had left Eddie, covered over with his jacket down in the depths. The others have to hold him back, because he was more than ready to dig through the rubble on his own. 

Even when they get to the quarry, diving into the shockingly cold water he still can't get his mind off of Eddie, especially when they all reminisce around him, and hug him when he cries. He wishes Eddie was there to do the same. Even though the days events are washed off, they are still not cleansed from his mind.

He lays awake days later, his last night in Derry after going to the kissing bridge to make the carving that a 13 year old kid with a crush had made years back a bit clearer, the E+R still there but faded and it was the only way he could honour those times, times that he couldn't even remember until a couple weeks ago. Both of them crammed into the hammock in the clubhouse, top to tail, times when Richie snuck into Eddies room, just to lay on his bed until they both fell asleep. 

He feels like he's lost Eddie again, but this time he could remember, at least, how easy talking to him had been, how things had slotted into place when they were in that restaurant. It felt like he had something that he didn't even know he missed, and now that it's gone has left a hole where that Eddie shape had moulded into his heart. 

He doesn't want to go back to LA, to his cold and empty apartment where he can't ignore the calls of his agent always breathing down his neck. But at the same time he can’t stay, it will drag him down even further than he already is if he keeps holding out hope that Derry will work its sketchy magic and bring Eddie knocking at his hotel room door.

So he goes, gets in his car after saying goodbye to the Losers that hadn’t left yet, and passes by Eddie's house on purpose before he starts on the drive back to his old reality, his pockets feeling weighed down with his loss.

He isn't a stranger to depression, sometimes it just hits him before he can control it, even though he's used to repression. But he’s never fallen this far. He's made his excuses with his agent, or just ignores her altogether, in favour of frequenting the bar down the way from his place, or just simply raiding his liquor cabinet. 

Richie is reminded of when he was younger, in a town full of people who would never accept him and his sexuality, so backwards as it was, and pining for his best friend. So in love and so in pain and depressed every day. Now the only difference is that he’s forty with a whisky bottle in his hand. 

The fuzziness of the alcohol doesn't do much to quell his stirring thoughts, but the warm sharpness of it sliding down his throat is enough of a buzz to make him feel anything other than completely empty. He thinks about stupid stuff, so small he wouldn’t have thought about it otherwise. It's always Eddie, but that seems to be the way things are now. Like how they gravitate towards each other, how he remembers feeling a bit lost when Eddie would be locked up in his room ‘sick,’ and always breaking him out shortly after. How he carried around a spare inhaler just in case Eddie needed it, even after he found out it did nothing in the first place. The way they always had a spot next to each other, it was just an unspoken thing. 

He curses himself for being a coward, when he did something like carving their initials into a fucking kissing bridge. How differently things would've gone if he hadn’t got them into that situation in the first place. How it would've been if he’d succumbed to the Deadlights, It taking him in Eddie's place. He wishes that was how it would’ve gone.

Eddie doesn’t even have a grave. None of them wanted to have a funeral in Derry, they wanted to leave the place behind, not thinking it right to leave him there, and they didn’t even have a body to bury. No place seemed deserving of Eddie, and Richie honestly didn’t want to go to a funeral, to mourn Eddie when he still hasn’t processed his death yet. 

He thinks about the life they would have had if he had grown a pair long enough to tell him. Pennywise knew, had teased him over his ‘dirty little secret.’ That clown had known, yet he'd never told anyone else, not his best friend or any of the Losers, only the few male flings he could allow himself to have something with, but he had cut them all off before they could even go anywhere, some crawling doubt festering in his mind each time. None of them could hold a candle to Eddie, he realises now, because even though he had lost his memories his feelings were too rooted to be got rid of. 

He wonders whether they would’ve been like Bev and Ben, the two now moved in together from what he's been told. Ben held onto that yearbook signature for 27 years, yet Richie had nothing of Eddie but festering thoughts. 

He imagines what Eddie would look like with his hair all mussed up early in the morning. Or doing domestic things like making him hot chocolate in the colder months, dressing it with whipped cream just to annoy the other as it would get all over his mouth. Maybe one day he'd come home with a Pomeranian, and Eddie would roll his eyes and eye the dog cautiously but be cuddled up with it watching movies on the couch later.

It was stupid, and he wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on these passing thoughts normally, the musings like torture. But his dreams play them all out in detail, such joy in the scenes while his eyes are closed but depressing once he wakes up, out of that haze and back into the real world where he can’t think of Eddie without it hurting

Bev rings him on an otherwise fine Saturday morning, his head thumping from a hangover and too many aches in his body to count from falling asleep on the floor, he reaches for his glasses strewn nearby and slips them on. His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out and accepts the call with a groggy, “hey Bev.”

“You sound like shit,” she says, but not meanly, more like a concerned mother, “rough night?”

Richie rubs his head, sitting up. “You could say that,” he replies, with lacking humour in his voice, his heart is not in it.

“Are- the others say they’ve tried to get a hold of you, but could never get a reply,” Bev starts, making Richie feel guilty they worried about him.

“Oh, tell them i- make sure they know I’m sorry for that,” Richie swallows, he can't remember the last time he was this serious with Bev, even after Eddie… he always cracked a joke to mask how he felt, because that's his thing, his tried and tested shield from showing his vulnerabilities.

“Rich, i know that losing Eddie hit you harder than any of us,” Richie can't help the violent churning in his gut he feels from that, because hearing it always hits hard, he doesn't want to accept it yet, “but just know that you can always talk to me or any of us, because I’m sure Eddie wouldn't want you to hurt so much on your own.”

He coughs roughly to hide the closing of his throat, the tears lingering on the edge from falling. “I never- god Bev, I lived like the majority of my life without him, but i just can't bring myself to let him go again.”

“I know, and I don’t think you ever can, but no one expects you to, you just find that point of feeling like you can live with missing them.” Bev has always been the most perceptive of the group and for once Richie doesn't know what to say.

Eddie remembers waking up on the sidewalk outside of the doorstep of his childhood house, his head groggy and mouth tasting like something fowl, and his clothes even worse. There's blood drying on his skin, and with noticing that thoughts begin to rush back. All the shit that he'd rather not remember of his second run-in with an alien clown, saving Richie, the searing pain of the things claw, ripping him open and throwing him around. He’d died, everything going fuzzy and just stopping. 

He checks his stomach and is glad it's dark with only streetlights as his company otherwise passers by would be looking at him, covered in so much of his own blood that he should be dead, but somehow now isn’t. The traces of the wound is still there, in the form of a raised scar, like he'd been hacked at, but that isn't too bad, since whatever magic had been worked had somehow brought him back to life, but maybe it wouldn't heal that kind of thing, so he isn't going to be ungrateful. 

He picks himself up on wobbly legs, trying to postpone the imminent freak-out in favour of finding Derrys hospital, about a mile or so away from what he can remember from his practically weekly visits. He’d love some water, but he isn't exactly going to wander to someone’s front door and ask for it, he definitely wouldn't open the door in that situation either, not even for himself.

A way into the walk he recognises the lack of his ring on his finger, and feels grateful that it had probably been left behind in the debris of the house on Neibolt. The only regret being that he could’ve got rid of the thing by himself, maybe have it delivered to Myra along with divorce papers.

When his feet are truly and completely tired and his legs are no better he just about makes it to the hospital before they give out, just lucky they notice him to get him inside, otherwise he wouldn’t have enough energy to get inside until morning. They get him a wheelchair and haul him into it, a few nurses and doctors coming straight to his aid probably because he looks like he could be bleeding out, he mustn’t look all that good, a bit like death warmed up if he had to guess, and that's closer to the truth than they know.

He must’ve passed out at some point, because when he wakes up he's attached to a drip, the needle in the back of his hand shifting when he rubs a weary hand over his face. It's still dark, but with the sun starting to peek through the blinds he guesses it must be dawn. His mouth is so dry, like he hasn’t had a drink in weeks but he supposes he hasn’t, so he quietly asks for one from a nurse and he croaks out his thanks when she returns. 

He hates hospitals, has avoided them ever since he could make his own choices, away from his mother and her twisted manipulations. He still can't get rid of the behaviour that she made flourish, his hypochondria still holding him in its familiar grip, and he vows to get out of his job as a risk analyst when he gets out of here, tired of sticking with something that feeds his phobias when he doesn't even enjoy it anyway. 

He's going to learn to take risks. He's going to be brave, just like Richie said he can be. A fond smile comes over his face. His best friend had grown up so much, like the rest of them, they couldn't even remember each other but that Richie that loved to push his buttons, that called him stupid nicknames, pinched his cheek and never failed to make him laugh was still the same Richie that he saved from It. 

Bev was right that day when they made the oath, Richie had grown into his looks, but more than that he thrived since the time when they had last seen each other. He was still awkward, a bit more disheveled maybe but it was all too endearing. To him at least, Richie has always been a special kind of person. 

And that's always been a problem too. 

After Bowers spread rumors about Richies sexuality his mom had a few choice words to say about it, not wanting him to hang around with ‘someone like that.’ He had heard the rumors himself, but chose to ignore them, because if Richie had felt like that then surely he would come to speak to his best friend about it, right? So he didn’t think they were real.

His mom's words had shaken him as intended though, and he was a bit weird around Richie for weeks after, just small things but things that he couldn't tamp down on. It wasn’t that he suddenly didn't like Richie, just because he might be gay or whatever, no not at all, in fact it made him feel light, happy in a way that he didn’t want to explore the reason of. But he realised after thinking it through when he was younger, laid out on his bed and staring up at his boring ceiling, that he was jealous, because the rumor started to flare with a new power when it spread that he flirted with Bowers cousin. And Eddie didn't think there’s anything wrong with being attracted to someone but there is when Richie isn’t attracted to him like that. 

He had forgotten all about that. How could that town and the monster within it take away the memory of his first love? He hates how corny ‘first love’ sounds but he can't deny that that was what Richie was to him, still is if the stubborn floaty feeling that he gets when Richie smiles at him is to go by. 

Richie gets woken up at 3:47 by the vibrating of his phone on the bedside table, and he thinks that it had better be an emergency or the person on the other end is going to get a piece of his very groggy mind. The number isn’t recognised, but he picks it up regardless. “Yeah?” He pushes out, his voice raspy.

“Hello, is this Richard Tozier?” The crisp feminine voice on the other end says, and he pulls himself together as much as he can muster.

“Uh, yes, who is this?” He asks, his brows furrowed, suddenly concerned at what this lady is calling about, a feeling of dread settling like a wet blanket over him as he sits on the side of his bed.

“I’m calling from Derry hospital,” Richies breath comes in sharp, not wanting to allow himself to hope, but he just can't help it. “You’re the only other contact of Edward Kaspbrak, other than his wife, he insisted we call you in fact, even though you’re not listed as an emergency contact.”

Richie's world stopped. He felt like he was rooted to the spot. Then his thoughts sped up, like a whirlwind, fully recognising what had been said, making him want to cry and scream in happiness at the same time. “I’ll- I’ll come right away, thank you,” he breathes, putting the phone down before the lady can answer, searching the web for the soonest flight to Maine.

He was a mess when he boarded the flight, nerves on edge and leg bouncing as he took his seat. Even the screaming child didn't get to him, just thinking of Eddie, and what shape he would be when he got there. He didn’t care though, because Eddie was alive. He’d be able to hold his hand and feel warmth, something he would have given everything for before that call

When Eddie next wakes up it's late in the afternoon and someone is rubbing his hand, sobbing quietly. His mind is still fuzzy, his body still not recovered from being dead most likely, and he mutters something without knowing it.

“What was that Eddie honey?” A sugar sweet voice asks, the last one he wants to hear. He doesn't know what to say to Myra, he thought he may have a bit more time but it's better sooner than later, right?

He’s all too awake now, and he fidgets with his ring-finger, looking for the band. “Nothing, Myra,” he says quietly, but not unkindly. 

She goes quiet, the tone and lack of pet name souring her happiness. He doesn't want to hurt her, but this would be easier if he didn't sugarcoat his words. “I noticed you don’t have your ring.” 

“I- yeah, I’m sorry to do this now, I really didn't want to, but I can't act as if everything is fine,” he sighs, his eyes downcast until he hears be brave echoing in his head. He looks at her, knowing this has to stop. “I don’t think this can go on any longer, we’re both not happy, and I’m sorry for letting this go on for so long because we both know we were never perfect for each other.”

She looked heartbroken, but she probably didn't want to argue with a man in a hospital bed like he knew she would if this happened any other way. He phrased it like ‘it's not you, it's me’ but at least he did it. He only married her to perpetuate his insecurities, because they're the most secure thing he has. She walks out, not another word said between them, and he breathes a sigh once he's alone. 

He doubts he’ll receive a christmas card but at least they ended things somewhat amicably. Sure he doesn’t doubt that all of his possessions may be on the front lawn when he gets back to New York but she could’ve taken it worse.

Richie touches down in the afternoon, trying to get through the frustrating process of thee airport as fast as possible, his hastily packed case being pulled along behind him. 

He boards the nearest taxi, rushing out the address of Derrys hospital. He taps a rhythm with his foot, trying to find something, anything to calm his heart that's been beating at a probably unhealthy speed since he got off that call. The drive goes slowly, feeling like it takes years until he sees the hospital. 

When they pull up Richie pulls out more cash than is probably necessary, not wanting to waste another second as he hands it to the guy, slipping his bag over his shoulder and going to the back of the car to pull his suitcase from the trunk. The thing rattles as he rushes inside, asking for directions from someone who works there, and thanks them as he speed walks to the emergency department. He gets a few glances as he goes to the main desk. “Hi, uh, someone called me for Eddie Kaspbrak, its Richie Tozier,” he said, and the tired guy behind the desk gives him the number of Eddie's hospital room.

He feels stirred up with a cocktail of emotion as he goes to the room, the door open, giving him a glimpse of the shape of the person in the bed. He holds onto the frame of the door, getting to look at the way Eddie has his eyes closed, his hands folded in his lap, so delicate and pale. He almost doesn't want to disturb, wishing he could keep this in his mind, just being able to see Eddie again too much to handle but not enough as he steps through the threshold of the door. 

He swipes at his eyes, promising himself he won't bawl his eyes out in front of Eddie, but he already knows that he's fighting a losing battle. He sits on a chair next to the hospital bed, making Eddie stir as it squeaks in protest. He wrings his hands together in his lap and before he can think better of it reaches out to Eddies hand, resting one of his own admittedly clammy ones over it. 

Just as he imagined, so warm. So alive. He doesn’t understand Derrys magic but he’s eternally grateful for it nonetheless. Eddie is still in his clothes from that day, still a huge blood spot on his shirt. “You sure did get banged up, huh Eds?” He laughs quietly, “but only a killer clown could ever take you down.”

Eddies lashes flutter, his eyes opening. Richie stops himself from reaching out to him, but he smiles widely when that gaze focuses on him, squeezing his hand. “Welcome back sleeping beauty.” 

Eddies nose wrinkles at the name, but seems happy that Richie came, the tension slipping from him. He notices the way Richie looks at him, like a mirage that may slip away at any moment. “How long have i been… well, dead for?” He asks carefully.

Something passes Richie's face, grief, Eddie thinks, though he's never seen Richie with that emotion before. The man looks worn when Eddie looks, really looks, over his face. “Its been like, fuck, months Eds,” Richie tells him, some of the anguish hes felt slipping into his voice, “they all kinda blurred together honestly.”

Eddie releases the breath he didn't realise he was holding. He can tell Richie hasn’t dealt well with his absence. He's been dead for months. He wouldn’t be any better if their positions were swapped, and he feels the need to wipe the sadness from Richie's face in any way he can.

“How is everyone?” He tries, a subject change the only way he can get Richie focused on something else. 

Richie is grateful for it, no matter how much subtlety it lacks. “Benverly are still the power couple of the century,” he snickers fondly, “Bills working on a new book, Mikes getting out there, since he doesn't need to research anymore, putting the old library up for sale and everything.” 

There's someone missing, and Eddie feels his absence raw like a fresh wound. “Have you heard from Stan's wife?”

“Yeah, yeah, he actually… he sent us all a letter, after,” Richie says, his eyes downcast, “yours got sent to me, cause I don't think your wife would be able to handle that but i kept hold of it for you, I didn’t wanna just screw it up and throw it in the trash y’know.”

He reaches into a pocket of his bag, retrieving the letter, unopened just as it was sent to the rest of them. Eddie unfolds the paper, seeing Stans careful script. He cries with reading the letter, and the closing lines making something bloom in his chest. “I wish he came back too, like i have,” Eddie says, a lump in his throat as he folds the letter carefully. “He sacrificed himself, for us, so that we could kill that thing.”

“He always was wise beyond his years, such a worrier,” Richie recalls, a faint smile on his face. He had been scared too, so terrified to be facing down that thing. He now knows what it's like to come into contact with Pennywise in a way, whereas Stan was fed off he saw into the Deadlights, and the horrors they contained. And much like Bev he had nightmares too, so surreal, living out Eddies death in graphic detail, but from a new perspective, seeing his form crushed by the house as it collapsed.

They sit for a while, in silence, but comfortable silence, like they used to have. “Have you called the others?” Eddie asked quietly.

“Shit, no, i was kinda a mess on the flight, it’s pretty embarrassing but I didn't really think about anything else,” Richie explains, feeling a bit guilty that he hadn’t let any of the Losers know about something as big as Eddie coming back from the dead.

“Call them, I’d honestly like to hear their voices again,” Eddie admits. Then decides to add, “not that I don't wanna listen to you too.”

Richie won't admit how good that makes him feel, even though he knows it already. He slips his phone out of his pocket, finding Bevs number and starting a call, putting it on loudspeaker. “Hey Rich,” Bevs voice comes through the speakers with, sounding altogether happier than Eddie remembers, Ben probably the cause, and that makes a smile split his face unashamedly. 

“Hey Bev,” Richie responds.

“You sound happy,” Bev remarks, “something happened?”

Richie's heart leaps with the realisation of what he's got to say. “Yeah, uh, something has definitely happened,” he says vaguely. “Is Ben there? Make sure you're on speakerphone too.”

Bev laughs quietly, curious at whatever Richie is going to admit, and a touch nervous too. “Yeah, he's right next to me, what is it?”

“You okay Richie?” Ben asks, sounding concerned.

“I’m okay Ben, it- fuck i don’t know how to say this without sounding like I’ve finally lost it, but uh, I’m in Derry, because Eddie has kinda risen from the dead, he’s in hospital,” Richie says, waiting for the information to sink in and hoping they don’t just bust out laughing.

“Eddie? He’s- you can’t be fucking serious Richie, if you’re playing a joke on us i swear-“

Richie cuts Bev off before she threatens him with violence like he knows she will. “No, no, this is like the most serious i've ever been, you know I’d never joke about this,” Richie tries to convince her, then gets a pretty good idea, granted that Eddie would be on board. “In fact, I’m here with him, if you want proof that I’m not fucking around, I’ll pass you to him.”

He hands the phone to Eddie, who looks a tad like a deer in the headlights. Eddie clears his throat, trying to convince himself that it's only Bev and Ben, he knows them, it won't be that hard. “Hi guys, I have no idea why but uh, Derry worked its magic, so I’m a whole lot more alive than I was, somehow, so uh, surprise.”

Richie snorts, taking the phone from Eddie. “See, I’m totally not bullshitting you,” he says. “I kinda had a bit of a breakdown when i found out, so you're free to freak out, cause god knows I did.”

“When- how did that even happen?” Bev asks, her voice wobbly.

Richie messes with his hair. “I have absolutely no idea, like Eddie said, Derry has done something, somehow,” Richie guesses, not wanting to question the ancient powers the town contains. “I kinda got on the first flight, I couldn't just stay put after getting a call like that, I’m just sorry I didn't call any of you guys, after everything i was kinda all over the place on the flight.”

“We understand Rich,” Ben chimes in, “we’ll get a hold of the others to tell them, since i think you guys deserve some rest.”

“Thanks Ben, and sorry for giving you guys a heart attack.”

Ben bids them farewell, probably about to frantically call everyone. Richie hides a sigh of relief, greatly glad that call went sort of okay. Eddie is quiet, his expression unreadable as he looks down at his left hand, more specifically his bare ring finger. “You okay Eds?” Richie asks, not wanting to pry as to why that gold band is absent.

“My wife was here, before you,” Eddie mentions.

Richie won’t admit the damper that's been put on his happy mood at that. “Oh, how is she?” He asks, trying to be happy that she came to see Eddie.

“I told her I wanted a divorce,” Eddie tells him, “I guess this whole situation has put things into perspective.”

Richie clears his throat, willing himself to say something with this new revelation that makes him feel like a happy lovesick teenager. “Proud of you Eds,” he admits, because he really is. “That why you're not wearing your ring?”

“I think I must’ve lost it, but i kinda wish I could’ve been the one to get rid of it,” Eddie huffs.

Richie hums sympathetically, his mind far away. He imagines telling Eddie, because this might be the best chance he would ever get, but he can't allow himself to entertain the thought. He doesn’t think Eddie would be the type to yell about him for liking guys, but liking him specifically is another matter.

“You got anyone Rich? You haven’t said much about if you're seeing anybody,” Eddie remarks, curious.

Richie inwardly grimaces, not wanting to talk about his love life with the guy he's pining over. “There's nobody, hasn’t been for a while,” he replies, hoping if he keeps his response vague Eddie will drop it.

He's never that lucky though. “I’m sure you've got girls that would kill to date you, you don't need to be humble Mr. Hit Comedian,” Eddie argues.

“I’m not that great, and i've never had much luck with dating, never anything long-term at least,” Richie states. “I’m still kinda hung-up on someone.”

That piques Eddies interest and makes Richie wish he could retract what he'd said. “Who’s got your attention? I don’t think you've ever mentioned someone before.”

Richie could do with a strong drink before he can answer this question. “It's just-“ Richie starts with, second-guessing what he should say before he just decides to take the plunge, “I used to know a guy, but he doesn't like me like that.” 

Eddie is taken aback. “I never knew you like guys.” He tries not to feel sad that his friend had never wanted to tell him such a big piece of information.

Richie gulps, this conversation quickly going places he would rather not venture into. “It's not that I couldn't trust you, cause you're the one i could tell anything to back then,” Richie stresses. “I just didn't wanna accept it then, part of me still doesn't honestly, and telling you would’ve come with other things.”

Eddie is quiet for a second, contemplating. “You should tell him,” he says, pulling a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes as he looks at Richie. “You never know until you tell someone, and he’d be pretty stupid to let you go.” It looks like regret is on Eddie's face, if Richie had to guess, however hard Eddie tries to stop it from showing. And even with the years apart he can still read the other like an open book.

Richie can't pin his suspicions down yet, so he tests the waters. “You’re making me sound so great, but seriously, why would anyone wanna date me?” The question is an honest one, because he definitely has issues, his traumatic childhood experiences the least of it.

Eddie looks incredulous. “Give yourself some credit, nobody’s perfect and anyone that can't see you for how great you are doesn't deserve you,” Eddie says frankly. “You’re funny, you literally make people laugh for a living dude and there aren’t many people that can do that, you're good looking, you're like your own version of good looking, and so much more, that dude doesn’t know what he's missing, seriously Rich.”

In that spiel Eddie was trying so hard to get his point across, using his hands and everything, just showing so much exuberance that Richie wanted to kiss him, pinch his cheeks and ruffle his hair like he used to for getting so riled up. Over him, he reminds himself. “You,” he chokes out, his voice not quite allowing him to say any more.

Eddies brows furrow. “What’s me?”

“It’s you, the guy I’m hung up on,” he swallows, gauging his friends blank expression, confusion seeping into Eddies face, and when he’s feeling nervous tends to talk, more so than usual at least, so his mouth spits whatever will diffuse this. “I’ve been kinda in pieces for the last few months, seriously bad, like I hate to imagine what my apartment looks like, cause I’ve been pining after you like a widow, and moping so much I’ve got Bev worried about me, cause fuck Eds I’ve been without you for so long and to have lost you again was just… it’s like everything good went with you.”

That’s a bit too true now he said it, and now everything is hinged on Eddies response. He imagines going back to his apartment, his heart a dull ache with rejection. A smile blooms like the prettiest of flowers on Eddies worn face, so sudden and joyful. “You have no fucking idea how crazy i was over you when we were kids,” Eddie says, looking bashful of all things as he continues, “you picked on me the most out of everyone, but it just made me fall harder.”

Richie stands from his chair, making the thing squeak against the floor at how quickly he gets up. Not the most smooth thing he's ever done, but he doesn't mind the little look of amusement that Eddie gives him. “Seriously? I didn’t think…” he fades off, pushing his glasses up his nose as a way to busy his hands in his awkwardness.

Eddie snorts. “Well you never were that observant, it normally had to hit you in the face before you realised,” Eddie teases.

Richie normally would’ve shoved him for that, but since the guys in a hospital bed he thinks he can let it slide, just this once. “Give me some credit Eds, i told you in the end.”

Eddie let out a genuine bark of a laugh at that, and Richie can't help but crack a smile. “Yeah, after 27 years and my death, you ass.”

That makes Richie let out an unattractive chortle, probably startling some of the people on the ward. “I still got there though, at least.”

Somehow they grow silent, and their hands join, like it's the simplest thing in the world. Richie doesn't know how he can feel so in love, so fond, looking at their hands connected. His hand has always felt too awkward when being held before, but Eddies fits perfectly in his own.

“I’m sure Bev knew,” Eddie says, “about this.”

“Bev always knows,” Richie answers with, because that’s a recognised fact at this point. 

“Stan did too, always observant, he used to look at me like he just knew, y’know?” Eddie smiles, thinking of all the glances that Stan had given him after he’d been caught staring at Richie for the umpteenth time.

“Stan was one of the best,” Richie states, smiling lopsidedly.

He feels like things have finally slotted into place, the universe finally making him feel at peace. Its like his life has lead to this point, even those months he spent after Eddies death, and now he can see something good on the horizon. 

“If i wasn’t in this hospital bed I’d be doing more than holding your hand,” Eddie claims, something mischievous in his eyes, feeling lighter than he has in years with Richie next to him.

Richies brows raise at the opportunities that statement. “Do tell,” he smirks, “would you get on your knees and serenade me? Perhaps take me in your arms and smooch me breathless? How are you planning to romance me Edward?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Why have I put up with you for so long?”

“Cause you lo~ve me,” Richie sing songs, grinning wildly, rilling Eddie up just the way he loves to, leaning over to give him sloppy kisses on the cheek.

Eddie protests, wiping a hand over his cheek and shoving Richie away as he laughs at his expense. “Yeah, I do love you Rich,” Eddie agrees, and the smile that comes over Richie's face, deepening the crows feet around his eyes and the smile lines at his mouth makes him want to say it a whole lot more, for the years to come.

~

**Author's Note:**

> And thats it! Kudos and comments are always appreciated and come see me over on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Hopefulwriter_)
> 
> I hope you have an awesome day/night!


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